[oneshot] regrettably yours.
regrettably yours.
ryo will never write you love letters
johnny's entertainment.
ryo/ueda. 788 words.
a/n- for the ryoda fans on my f-list. (: ♥
as;lfsfkd so uninspired these days. just something I wrote quickly, and a kind of experimental style :/
highlight for answers.
regrettably yours.
-
you dream of him, dream of his eyes.
(they’re beautifully broken.
& it might just be a little addiction.)
-
april mornings are forever, springtime love is sweet and untouchable and his eyes are smirking in his face, and you want to break something. he’s reading hamlet and smoking a cigarette and you almost want to laugh and ask him if he’s going to hold the universe in between his eyelids and capture the sun between your macabre eyes. ryo isn’t poetic and ryo isn’t an artist and reading shakespeare is completely ridiculous and you almost want to laugh with recycled words.
(you crouch down with him and talk about hamlet.
ophelia’s a tragedy, you say.)
you kick back sunday afternoons with him, dipping your toes into nothing and you’ve got beer bottles strewn around you, your cheap form of suicide. he splashes pool water over your head and you’re shivering to death and you collapse together and he plays you a song on his guitar. you point out his mistakes and laugh, short and sharp.
i want to be free, he says suddenly, and fingers the tips of your hair, and you wonder in silence. you’re content, happy and you wonder since when was it that he made you feel this way, and you live in a euphoric state with him by your side
(until pi rings, jin rings, uchi rings and he leaves, leaves you behind and you pick up his guitar pick to return to him next time round.
next time isn’t until a few weeks later where he stumbles into your house, drunk out of his mind and reeking of female and sex. you lie him down on your bed and sleep on the couch and wake up early the next morning to make him breakfast.
his apologies and promises are empty.
he’s back a month after that, doing the exact same thing and his guitar pick lies untouched.)
-
sometime later you kiss him with broken lips on a cold autumn night, you’re wearing your best smile and you swear his eyes can shatter the moon. they’re pale and broken symphonies and he’s growling and now you’re crying and fuck you, it’s just one damn quiet night and the stars are out and they sparkleshimmer like your heartburn. It’s something you can’t even describe, something you can’t even name anymore because damn, damn, his eyes are neon, a plethora of fluroescent highlights and supernova brilliance.
(& you can see yourself whisper to him, taking your quickslow breaths and staring at those heartbreak eyes and you’re whispering quiet words of i loveyouiloveyoupleasepleasejustletmeloveyouipromiseillbegoodandillcareforyouandsingyoulullabyfantasiesandohillgiveyoutheworldandshowyoulove.
fuck, ryo. i love you. pleasepleaseplease.
his eyes are cold.)
he doesn’t meet your eyes anymore and you’re frustrated and crazed and die for me ophelia (watch that willowtree snap), shakespeare is so overrated now and you haven’t touched a guitar in weeks, haven’t played in months. your piano is all too dusty and your couch is overturned but you just can’t bring yourself to care (you almost hate yourself). it’s so easy to be tongue-tied and the sound of silence has never been so loud until now.
(he comes over later and brings hamlet with him.
he leans in and kisses you and whispers, says i don’t love you and you say okay.
this is how the world begins.)
-
you have self inflicted pain scrawled into your skin and you spell it out for him (i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u) slowly, steadily, scribing it carefully onto his wrist, wondering if the words would seep into his soul &hisheart. you write your love letters in red ink because you don’t know how to speak in happy endings and your confession to him is slightly cliché, the words you speak are almost painful but somehow you think that this is the beginning, only the beginning.
(you wish you were right.)
he pushes you up against the wall and fucks you hard, it’s painful and needy and oh so very abnormal but it’s the way you both play this game i need you he would say and you know he is lying but you just don’t care anymore because you’ve had enough of waiting and so you let him and you know you’ve failed this game, you’ve lost inbetween it all. yep, just put a red cross next to your name, and lets move on, next concert, next life.
(winning is a weakness strength- but you’ve never believed.)
-
the next time you meet is in between your two cities.
his smile is forgotten and half-forever in your eyes (i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u-i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u-i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.
such a shame that ryo’s a nonbeliever.) and the darkness you see in his is questionable.
i’m liberated, he says, and he fastens his own handcuffs.
(heneverpicksyou.)
FINIS. // 26.06.08 -->
ryo will never write you love letters
johnny's entertainment.
ryo/ueda. 788 words.
a/n- for the ryoda fans on my f-list. (: ♥
as;lfsfkd so uninspired these days. just something I wrote quickly, and a kind of experimental style :/
highlight for answers.
regrettably yours.
-
you dream of him, dream of his eyes.
(they’re beautifully broken.
& it might just be a little addiction.)
-
april mornings are forever, springtime love is sweet and untouchable and his eyes are smirking in his face, and you want to break something. he’s reading hamlet and smoking a cigarette and you almost want to laugh and ask him if he’s going to hold the universe in between his eyelids and capture the sun between your macabre eyes. ryo isn’t poetic and ryo isn’t an artist and reading shakespeare is completely ridiculous and you almost want to laugh with recycled words.
(you crouch down with him and talk about hamlet.
ophelia’s a tragedy, you say.)
you kick back sunday afternoons with him, dipping your toes into nothing and you’ve got beer bottles strewn around you, your cheap form of suicide. he splashes pool water over your head and you’re shivering to death and you collapse together and he plays you a song on his guitar. you point out his mistakes and laugh, short and sharp.
i want to be free, he says suddenly, and fingers the tips of your hair, and you wonder in silence. you’re content, happy and you wonder since when was it that he made you feel this way, and you live in a euphoric state with him by your side
(until pi rings, jin rings, uchi rings and he leaves, leaves you behind and you pick up his guitar pick to return to him next time round.
next time isn’t until a few weeks later where he stumbles into your house, drunk out of his mind and reeking of female and sex. you lie him down on your bed and sleep on the couch and wake up early the next morning to make him breakfast.
his apologies and promises are empty.
he’s back a month after that, doing the exact same thing and his guitar pick lies untouched.)
-
sometime later you kiss him with broken lips on a cold autumn night, you’re wearing your best smile and you swear his eyes can shatter the moon. they’re pale and broken symphonies and he’s growling and now you’re crying and fuck you, it’s just one damn quiet night and the stars are out and they sparkleshimmer like your heartburn. It’s something you can’t even describe, something you can’t even name anymore because damn, damn, his eyes are neon, a plethora of fluroescent highlights and supernova brilliance.
(& you can see yourself whisper to him, taking your quickslow breaths and staring at those heartbreak eyes and you’re whispering quiet words of i loveyouiloveyoupleasepleasejustletmeloveyouipromiseillbegoodandillcareforyouandsingyoulullabyfantasiesandohillgiveyoutheworldandshowyoulove.
fuck, ryo. i love you. pleasepleaseplease.
his eyes are cold.)
he doesn’t meet your eyes anymore and you’re frustrated and crazed and die for me ophelia (watch that willowtree snap), shakespeare is so overrated now and you haven’t touched a guitar in weeks, haven’t played in months. your piano is all too dusty and your couch is overturned but you just can’t bring yourself to care (you almost hate yourself). it’s so easy to be tongue-tied and the sound of silence has never been so loud until now.
(he comes over later and brings hamlet with him.
he leans in and kisses you and whispers, says i don’t love you and you say okay.
this is how the world begins.)
-
you have self inflicted pain scrawled into your skin and you spell it out for him (i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u) slowly, steadily, scribing it carefully onto his wrist, wondering if the words would seep into his soul &hisheart. you write your love letters in red ink because you don’t know how to speak in happy endings and your confession to him is slightly cliché, the words you speak are almost painful but somehow you think that this is the beginning, only the beginning.
(you wish you were right.)
he pushes you up against the wall and fucks you hard, it’s painful and needy and oh so very abnormal but it’s the way you both play this game i need you he would say and you know he is lying but you just don’t care anymore because you’ve had enough of waiting and so you let him and you know you’ve failed this game, you’ve lost inbetween it all. yep, just put a red cross next to your name, and lets move on, next concert, next life.
(winning is a weakness strength- but you’ve never believed.)
-
the next time you meet is in between your two cities.
his smile is forgotten and half-forever in your eyes (i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u-i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u-i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.
such a shame that ryo’s a nonbeliever.) and the darkness you see in his is questionable.
i’m liberated, he says, and he fastens his own handcuffs.
(heneverpicksyou.)
FINIS. // 26.06.08 -->